


Lost & Found

by Marrilyn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Bathtubs, Blood, Bruises, Canon-Typical Violence, Comfort, Crying, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Holding Hands, Hugs, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Kidnapped Rowena, Kissing, Knives, Rowena Whump, Sobbing, Stabbing, Tears, Violence, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-09
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-08-21 06:20:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16571282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marrilyn/pseuds/Marrilyn
Summary: After being missing for two weeks, Rowena is finally found. But her troubles are far from over.





	1. Reunited

Rowena had been missing two weeks to the day when you got the call.

"We found her. We found Rowena."

You barely registered that it was Sam Winchester uttering those words you'd been waiting ages to hear, barely registered the sheer anguish in his voice as he said them. All you heard was that she was found. That she was  _ safe. _

Soon you would be able to wrap your arms around her and hold her tight (as you always did, which she never ceased to complain about for the mere sake of complaining; she loved to be held as much as you loved holding her, and her constantly coming back for more proved that) and promise to never let her go again. This time you would make good on it. You would keep her safe at all costs. Even if she hated you for it. Even if she called you clingy and accused you of suffocating her. Her safety would be your number one priority.

"But…" Sam's voice shook you back to reality.

"What is it?" you asked. His tone finally dawned on you. You refused to acknowledge it. Maybe it was a mistake, you thought. Maybe you'd heard wrong.

_ Please, let me be wrong. _

Injured or not, the most important thing was that Rowena had been found. Still, you'd rather she'd been found whole than in pieces. Last time, a little over a year ago, it had taken you months to put her back together. She was still missing a few pieces from back then; trauma was a cruel, unforgiving bitch. She couldn't lose any more. She was broken enough as she was.

_ Please, be okay. _

Sam swallowed. "It's bad," he said after a few agonizing moments of silence.

_ No.  _ Your heartbeat sped up, followed by your breathing.  _ No, no, no.  _ Through shaky, trembling mouth, you managed to utter, "How bad?"

You weren't sure you wanted to know the answer.

"Very."

That one word was enough to put you in motion. You packed all of your and Rowena's essentials, shoved them into the trunk of your car, and sped off towards the bunker. The highway was lone, a few stray cars passing by here and there. You were grateful for the solitude. There were no people for you to look after, no cars to drive around. It was just you and the road, and the promise of seeing your girlfriend for the first time in two weeks. You didn't care about the speed limit. The glove compartment was full of hex bags in case of an emergency. No cop, or anyone else for that matter, would stop you from reaching your girlfriend as fast as you could.

She'd been tortured, Sam had said. They didn't know who or what had done it to her. They'd found her on the street, limping like a wounded animal. They didn't even have time to greet her; as soon as they'd said her name and she turned her head to look at them, she'd passed out.

Your girl had been tortured.

For two weeks you were running around, questioning people, human and supernatural, about her whereabouts. You'd shared fliers with her picture on it, called in favors with demons and witches you'd known to ask them to be on the lookout and spread the word. All the while, Rowena was locked up hell knew where and tortured.

At one point during your search, Dean had had the audacity to suggest she'd left you. Wouldn't be the first time she'd done it, he'd said. Leaving was her modus operandi. Sam had had to hold you back from punching him and throwing a hex bag in his face. You gripped the wheel tighter at the memory, teeth clenching in anger, pure and unadulterated. A snarl, wild, animalistic, escaped your mouth. How dare he even think that? She was being tortured, and he…

_ Relax,  _ you told yourself. There was no use dwelling on that now. Rowena was safe and alive. That was all that mattered.

Sam had let you park in the bunkers garage and led you up the stairs as soon as you grabbed your bag (filled with healing herbs and potions). No greetings were exchanged; the situation was too serious for formalities.

"She's still passed out," Sam said as you walked towards the room they'd put Rowena in, her temporary sanctuary.

Your chest tightened. Tears threatened to fall, but you held them contained in your eyes. There would be time for crying later. For now, Rowena needed you to be strong.

"Did you give her anything? Any medicine?" you asked.

Sam shook his head. "We were gonna wait until she woke up. In case…"

In case she didn't want them to. They wanted to give her a choice. You nodded.

The bunker was surprisingly empty. Ever since the alternate world rescue mission, the place had been swarming with people. They all must have gone on hunts, or vacations of some sort. You appreciated the quiet. Truth be told, you felt safer with just Sam and Dean there. A dwelling filled with hunters wasn't wasn't the safest place for a witch, especially a badly injured one. Even though Rowena had helped them escape, you were still suspicious. Hunters, especially those you didn't know, weren't to be trusted, especially in large numbers.

Suddenly, a sharp, piercing scream ripped through the bunker. You and Sam exchanged a look, and then, as if on cue, started running.  _ Please, be okay, _ you prayed.  _ Please, be okay.  _ You would recognize that scream anywhere. The sound had imprinted on you after months of being woken by it in the middle of the night.

Rowena was awake, and she seemed to be in pain. She seemed to be  _ scared.  _ An ache bloomed in your heart, concern filling you up from head to toe. Had she had a nightmare? Were her wounds hurting?

_ I'm here, baby girl. It's gonna be okay. _ You would make it okay. You swore it on your life.

Sam opened the door and you pushed past him on your way in, urgency taking precedence over manners. The sight that greeted you stopped you in your tracks. Rowena was huddled on the bed, knees pressed to her chest and her arms wrapped around them. She was trembling, breathing as if she'd run a marathon. Curled up like that, she resembled a child, broken, terrified of their own shadow. She was still clad in the same dress she'd put on two weeks ago before heading out. It was dirty now, coated in dust and dried blood. Her hair was messy, unkempt: it had been neither combed nor brushed in weeks. Bruises covered every visible inch of her skin. There were various shades purples and blues, a few greens and yellows sprinkled here and there. It was as if someone had used her body as a canvas for their morbid art.

Your knees turned to jelly, and it took all your strength to remain on your feet. Somebody had done that to your girlfriend. Some sick fuck had tortured her repeatedly for two weeks without a touch of mercy, without a shred of remorse. Anger licked at you from the inside, swallowing you up whole one nerve at a time, pain temporarily forgotten in place of building rage. Your teeth clenched, and with them your fists. The bastard would pay. Whoever they were, they would pay for laying their hands on your girl.

Across from the bed stood Dean, hands raised in a surrender motion. Had he hurt her? Had he made her scream?

"What did you do?" you demanded, unable to keep the growl from your voice.

"Nothing! I was checking for broken bones when she woke up and went all banshee on me," he explained.

You scowled at him, inspection his face for signs of deception. There appeared to be none. "Are there any?"

"Not that I could tell."

A relieved sigh left your mouth. At the very least there was that. Broken bones were a tad more difficult to deal with than bruises.

You turned back to Rowena. Lowering your bag to the floor, you took a few steps towards her. "Rowena? Honey, it's me. Y/N."

Her eyes locked with yours. They were full of pain, full of fear, their broken look a match for her appearance. Recognition flickered in them as soon as they landed on your face.

Your heart shattered, but you pulled on a small smile to mask it. "You're safe now," you said. Now and forever. Something like this would never happen again.

Rowena was still. She just watched as you approached her. While still shaking, she made no protest to you coming closer, gave away no sign that she was scared of you.

Smile never leaving your face, you sat down on the edge of the bed. "Don't be scared," you told her. "It's gonna be okay. You're in the bunker. No one can hurt you here."

She stared at you for a few seconds, uncomfortable silence settling over the room.

Then, in a tone as snarky as you remembered it, with a voice just a tad scratchy from a dry throat, she said, "I bloody know where I am."

You couldn't hold back a small laugh. Your girl was back. No — she'd never left. She was hurt and scared, but she was still her. That monster hadn't broken her.

Without thinking, taken over by joy, you put your arms around Rowena and encircled her in a hug. Tears spilled down your face like a downpour, painful, bitter; you could no longer hold them back. You could no longer hold anything back. You started sobbing, shamefully loud, like an overly dramatic mourner at a funeral. You'd gotten Rowena back, and you never wanted to let her go again. You wanted to stay by her side, wanted to hold her and tend to her and protect her for the rest of your lives. You wanted to make sure nobody would ever take her from you and hurt her again.

Rowena let out pained hisses, but made no attempts to push you back. Instead, she relaxed into the hug. For a few more moments she was still, then her arms wrapped around your back. She was so weak, you noticed. So weak and wounded, but she held on. She needed you as much as you needed her.

"I'm sorry," you whimpered. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

"You didn't do anything, dear," Rowena said softly.

That was the problem. You didn't do anything. She'd been tortured for so long, and you didn't even know where she was. Some useless witch you were. Useless  _ girlfriend. _

"I love you," you said.

"I love you, too," Rowena said. She'd never said it in public before, never in front of an audience. She didn't care about coming off as weak anymore. A declaration of love was nothing in comparison to a wounded body. If Sam and Dean could see her like this, then they could hear her say she loved you.

You pulled back. Rowena tried to hold you in place, but she didn't have the strength. Her face fell, and with it your heart broke all over again. There would be time for holding her later, when she was all taken care of and painless. You didn't want to hurt her any more than you had to.

Your hand reached for hers. It was as dirty and bloody as the rest of her, but you didn't care. You squeezed it, and she squeezed back as hard as she could, instantly relaxing at the touch.

"I looked for you. I looked everywhere!" You had to tell her. She had to know that you'd tried, that you hadn't forgotten her. "I swear, I looked everywhere!"

"I expected nothing less from my wee lass," Rowena said, putting on a smile. She grimaced as it pulled on her split lip, but didn't put it away.

"I'm sorry I couldn't find you." You brought your other hand to her bruised cheek, gently cupping it.

She leaned into the touch like a cat asking to be pet. "I appreciate the attempt."

Because nobody else would have bothered, was the unsaid implication. Nobody else  _ had _ bothered. People had taken advantage of her and betrayed her her entire life. For a long, long while, she'd known no different. Then she'd met you, and she finally, for the first time in centuries, got to experience genuine love. She finally got to be cared for and cherished without having to fear betrayal.

"I missed you so much," you said.

"I missed you, too," Rowena said. "Locked up in that horrible place, all I could think about was you. I knew you'd never abandon me."

"Never," you swore. You would rather die. "I brought things. Potions, salves…" You motioned back to the discarded bag. "I'm gonna take care of you. You're gonna be okay."

She nodded. She wasn't one to accept help easily, but this time she needed it. She couldn't pretend otherwise.

"You good?" Dean asked. You almost forgot he and Sam were still there. For Winchesters, they strangely managed to keep quiet. Were they silently laughing at the scene? Nah. Didn't seem like their style. Most likely didn't want to interrupt the heartfelt reunion. How noble. "No more banshee screams?"

Rowena glared at him. "I apologize for being startled by waking up to a man touching me after two weeks of being locked up in a bloody cellar!"

Dean put his hands up in a peace motion and gave a small shrug. "Fair point."

"You think?"

He sighed. "Happy to see you back, Rowena."

"No, you're not, but thank you."

Dean shrugged. He was never her biggest fan.

Sam offered a small smile. "How are you feeling?"

"Like hell," Rowena said honestly. Her voice softened a tad. She'd formed a sort of a bond with the younger winchester. Not necessarily a friendship, but something. Dean would never understand it. He would never understand  _ her. _ Sam, at the very least, tried. He'd given her a chance. Aside from you, not many other people have done that. She respected him for it.

Neither you nor her were fully convinced Dean was on board with it. He'd said she could be redeemed, but you both knew what he could be like when he lost his temper. Rowena, while cautious, was willing to give him a chance, the same one Sam had given her. You, on the other hand, were on alert at all times. You didn't trust him, and you especially didn't trust him with her. Dean Winchester had a lot of making up to do for you to be comfortable with Rowena being around him.

"Can I get you anything?" Sam asked.

Rowena cleared her scratchy throat. "A glass of water would be nice."

When had she last had water? You decided you didn't want to know. The bastard that had taken her wasn't overly concerned with her wellbeing. You didn't doubt they'd given her the bare minimum of sustenance just to keep her going, to keep her alive for their torments. Looking her over, you could tell she'd lost a few pounds. You dreaded seeing her without clothes.

"Coming right up," Sam said and headed out.

He reappeared a minute later with a full, cold glass. You took it from him and handed it to Rowena. Your hands remained on the glass as she drank, slowly, sip by sip, savoring the cool taste. Her hands were shaky; weeks of abuse and malnourishment tended to do that to a person. You helped her keep the glass steady. You could tell she wasn't too thrilled at being helped drink, but she tolerated it. She was well aware of her own weakness. Sometimes she had to swallow her pride and let you help. It was, after all, for her own good.

"Better?" you asked, giving the now empty glass back to Sam. It had taken a bit, but she drained it to its last drop.

Rowena nodded. "A bit."

Throat taken care of. The rest of the body to go.

"Rowena," Sam suddenly said, uncertainty clear in his voice, "who did this to you?"

Rowena tensed up. Her body went stiff like marble, as if life had suddenly left it and all that remained was its fleshy shell, cold and empty. She swallowed so hard it hurt her, but she didn't scream. She didn't cry or flinch or hiss. She just stared, eyes wide and glued to your linked hands in search of a distraction. The usual life had withered from them, lights drowned out into darkness. The green forest in them was no longer vivacious like in the Spring; Winter had dawned in them, cold, merciless, unforgiving.

"His name is Trevor," Rowena said, willing her tone to remain steady, to not fall apart. "He… he is a hunter."

Wasn't that a surprise.

Rowena took a deep breath before adding, "He comes from that other world."

Wait, what?

"What?" Sam and Dean voiced your thoughts out loud in unison.

"The alternate world?" you asked, unable to hide your disbelief.

"Aye."

The world where he was hunted. The world Rowena had stayed awake for over two days to keep the gate open to so that the survivors, including Trevor, could escape to safety. The world torn apart by war, where angels were in charge and humans were cattle. That world.

Anger flared up inside you. After everything Rowena had done for them, for him, Trent had repaid her by torturing her.  _ Ungrateful bastard! _

"The scruffy, skinny, cowboy-boots Trevor?" Dean asked.

Rowena flinched at the description. "That's the one."

Sam looked mortified. "Did he say why?"

"Apparently I killed his family. The other world me." Rowena chuckled, and it was bitter. "He never got to have his revenge, so he thought I was an adequate stand in."

"That son of a bitch!" you cursed.

"He's been coming here all this time," Sam said. "Nothing about him seemed out of the ordinary."

"You never suspected anything?" you asked, and it sounded terribly like an accusation. You didn't care. When it came to Rowena's wellbeing, everyone and everything was suspect until proven otherwise.

"No," Sam replied. "He seemed… normal. Friendly."

"Did he really, or did you ignore the signs?" You regretted those words as soon as they left your mouth. It wasn't fair to judge him. Out of everybody, Sam would have first sprung into action if he had as much as a hint of what was happening.

But then, he was also friends with the man — the monster — that had tortured your girlfriend.

"If we'd suspected anything, we would've looked into it," Sam said, defensive.

"Think we'd have left her to be tortured?" Dean asked, just as offended as his brother.

_ Maybe  _ you  _ would have. _ You didn't say it out loud. No point in furthering the conflict. "I don't know what to think."

"We wouldn't," Sam said. He looked at Rowena, expression soft, sincere. "We wouldn't, Rowena."

_ Maybe  _ you  _ wouldn't, but your brother… _

"I know, Sam," she said with a small nod.

"He's never gonna hurt you again," you said, squeezing her hand in emphasis. It was a promise, an oath, a vow forged out of love that burned like lava, pure and boiling. Trevor would pay for laying his hands on Rowena. He would beg for mercy, and there would be none; none for a monster like him. You couldn't protect her from Lucifer, but you could damn well take out a measly human. "I swear."

Rowena looked at you, and you knew, from her expression, that she understood. She saw the fire burning inside of you, protective, vengeful, dangerous. You would keep her safe. No matter what happened, you would protect her. You wouldn't let Trevor, or anybody else, hurt her ever again.

Rowena gave a small nod, then leaned forwards to bury her head into your chest. Her forehead rested against you. She was so fragile, you realized. So small and delicate. People thought she was a cold, heartless bitch. They only knew the mask she put on for them, to protect herself from them. Nobody ever bothered to look past it, to get to know her. Nobody but you. You knew her hidden sides well enough. She had feelings just like everybody else. She loved and hurt and suffered. She craved affection as much as the next person. She craved hugs and protection. She craved love. And all that you were more than willing to give her.

"Is it okay if we take care of you now?" you asked, one hand rubbing soft, gentle circles over her back. You were careful with touching her; there was no way to know what kind of injuries her dress was hiding. You relied on her body language, and so far she'd given no indication of being hurt.

"Aye," Rowena whispered. She pulled back and looked up at you. Eyes glittering with unshed tears, face bruised and fallen, she resembled a hurt puppy. "Can… can it be just you?"

"Of course," you said.

She smiled, then threw a quick glance towards Sam. "It's nothing personal. I just…"

She just knew you. She'd been vulnerable around you before. You'd seen her at her worst. She never had to fear judgment from you, never had to hold back tears or yelps of pain in fear of being chastised. She knew, with just you there, she could just be herself. You never pushed her to be anything else.

It had taken her months into your relationship to let you see her for who she really was. Sam and Dean, on the other hand, had only recently given her a second chance. She would never be as close with them as she was with you.

"It's okay," Sam said. "We understand."

Dean expressed his agreement with a nod.

Rowena thanked them with a smile.

"Need anything else before we leave?" Sam asked.

"Got any bandages?" you said. "And maybe a towel and a bowl of warm water?"

"Sure."

"Thank you," you said, and you meant it. Had he and Dean not run into Rowena, she would have still been on the streets. Or worse, recaptured by that maniac.

"Don't mention it."

As soon as the brothers went to fetch the items, you said, "I'm gonna take real good care of you. Soon you'll be as good as new."

Physically, maybe.

Psychologically, though… It would take some time for those wounds to heal. Two weeks of captivity and constant torture couldn't be erased by a hug and a few nice words.

"Thank you," Rowena said. A tear finally slid out her eye, carefully falling down her wounded face.

"Anything for you."

Literally, anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by OswinTheStrange.


	2. Cleansed

The first thing you did was give Rowena a potion for the pain. It wouldn't take the worst of it away, but it would considerably numb it down; touching wounds that would have usually left her howling would now feel like uncomfortable tugging. She could take a bit of discomfort. Pain she had had enough of in the past two weeks.

While you waited for the potion to take effect, you rushed back to the garage to grab your and Rowena's bags. Sam and Dean had been kind enough to allow you to stay for a few days, until Rowena was well enough to travel back home. They offered you a room of your own, but Rowena told them it wasn't necessary. She was okay with you sleeping with her, she'd said. She needed you with her, needed you to hold her and keep her safe in case of bad dreams. After two weeks of being away from you, she needed you by her side. The implication wasn't lost on anybody.

Setting the bags in the corner, you pulled out a nightgown. It was black and silky, reaching just above the knees, and lined with lacy patterns. Not the perfect wear for an injured person, but it would do. You set it on the bed next to the medical supplies you'd scattered around it.

Rowena watched your preparations like a hawk, intent, curious. She looked rather okay for somebody who'd spent two weeks in captivity and endured constant torture. Habit, you assumed. Four years ago, Crowley had held her chained up in a dungeon for weeks and, from the way she talked about it, it didn't seem to have bothered her all that much. Same with her capture at the hands of the British Men of Letters years prior. She was used to it. The thought made your stomach turn. She shouldn't have been used to it. Nobody should be used to torture.

It could have been worse, you supposed. It could have been Lucifer. Anything and everything else paled in comparison to what he had done to her.

You wanted to weep. No wonder she used to be cruel. It wasn't her nature — the world had made her that way. All she did was adapt to the cruelty it had dealt her.

"Are you good to start?" you asked.

"Aye."

Giving a small nod, you pressed a kiss to her forehead, a wordless promise that you would do your best for her. The first order of business was getting her undressed. Thankfully, she was able to stand up, so it was easy to get the dress off of her.

"What's wrong with your foot?" you asked, taking notice of her raised up foot. Sam had mentioned she was limping when they'd found her, but he didn't say anything of the injuries.

"I tried to escape a few days ago. He caught me and…" Rowena swallowed and took a few breaths to keep her voice from breaking. "He burned me." Her eyes glistened with tears as she spoke.

You grit your teeth, swallowing back the building anger. The bastard would pay. Nobody who did something like that to your girlfriend got to get away with it.

"I'm sorry," you said.

Years ago, she would have chastised you for "pitying" her. She knew better now. You loved her. You cared about her. Everything you said and did was for her own good. Compassion, sympathy, love — that was all there was to it. It had taken her a while, but she had come to accept it.

Carefully, you slid the dress up over Rowena's head and tossed it aside. You barely held back a gasp as your eyes laid upon her almost-naked body. Just like her face, her body was riddled with bruises. Purple and blue marred the creamy skin like paint sprayed over almost every surface.

She had lost a considerable amount of weight. Her naturally thin body was skinny, skin barely clinging to bones. Had the bastard been feeding her? You weren't sure you wanted an answer to that.

"I'd like a bath," Rowena said.

"When you're better," you told her, looking her over for injuries. Aside from wrists raw from chains and a burned sole, she seemed to only bear bruises. _Good._ Bruises could be dealt with. A few days of rest and some potions, and she would be as good as new. "For now, just rest."

Rowena pouted.

"Honey, you've been through a lot," you told her. "Let your wounds heal a bit first."

"I'm filthy," she whined.

"I know. And I know it bothers you, but be patient for a bit." Her pout deepened. You sighed. Count on her to try manipulation. "Two days, okay?"

"Fine," she caved begrudgingly.

Sitting her down on the bed, you started working on her wrists. You cleaned the open wounds, applied healing salve to them, and bandaged them up nice and tight. You repeated the procedure for her foot. It had taken you a while to clean the burn; Rowena had walked on it, and you had to thoroughly clean it. Better safe than risk an infection.

Rowena remained silent throughout the entire ordeal. She let you do your job and followed any instructions you gave her without complaint. There was a time when she would have struggled, when she would have complained for the mere sake of complaining. She knew better now. She knew _you_ better.

Once you were done, you looked her over once more to make sure you hadn't missed an injury. All that remained were bruises, and them you could do nothing about but give her a healing potion and hope it did its job fast. You stood her up again and removed her bra and panties, throwing them back with the discarded dress. You helped her put on a clean pair of panties and the nightgown. As you tucked her into bed, you held the healing potion up to her lips until the vial was empty; for it to work properly, the potion had to be downed to its last drop.

"Get some rest now," you said.

Rowena frowned. "Where are you going?"

"I'm gonna get you some food. I know you like that restaurant nearby."

It was a small place about two miles away. It wasn't as luxurious as the restaurants she was used to, but it was fancy enough for her to take a liking to it. The food was divine.

Rowena swallowed. She reached for your hand and squeezed it with bits of strength she had left. "Don't leave me."

 _It's just a short drive,_ you wanted to say, but kept your mouth shut at the look of absolute devastation on her face. Her eyes were watery, pleading, sparkling with welling tears. She was scared, you realized. Scared that she would wake up chained up in that cellar without a soul in sight to help her and realize all of this had been a dream her shattered mind had conjured up in attempts to help her cope with her fate. Scared that she would be alone again, that she would be in pain and nobody would care enough to try to help her. Scared that you would leave her.

"Oh, honey," you said, and it came out dangerously close to pity. You hoped she knew it wasn't. Laying a kiss to her knuckles, you clasped your free hand over your linked ones and started rubbing the top of hers with your thumb. Soft, gentle circular movements, an action you always performed to soothe her. "I'll never leave you. I swear."

Rowena gave a light nod. She knew that, but she wanted you to say it. She wanted — no, _needed_ the reasurrence. "Stay."

"Okay. I'll go ask Sam to get the food, then I'm all yours. That okay?"

Another nod, albeit a reluctant one. She didn't want you to leave for even a minute. But you said you'd be back right away, and she believed you. She _trusted_ you. So far, you hadn't let her down.

You went to find Sam, gave him the restaurant's address, and wrote down what to get, then returned to Rowena's room. She seemed to breathe out in relief at seeing you again. You crawled underneath the covers beside her and reached for her hand. She leaned into you, laying her head on your chest. Emaciated and bruised, she looked impossibly small against you. As frail and delicate as a porcelain doll. To be handled with care and loved to death. You could do that — that and so much more.

"Are you comfortable like this?" you asked, just to be sure.

"Aye."

"Anything hurt?"

"No."

"Rowena," you warned sternly.

She sighed. "There's a bit of pain. Emphasis on 'a bit.' The potion is working, love. Don't worry."

"Okay," you said.

She was going to be okay.

Everything was going to be okay.

* * *

Two days had passed in the blink of an eye. Rowena had made incredible recovery. Most of the bruises had faded to greens and yellows, soon to vanish completely. Her wrists and foot had healed nicely as well. She wasn't too happy with having to be walked to the bathroom, but if she wanted her sole to heal, she had to refrain from walking on it. Until then, you were more than happy to be her crutch.

During all that time, you'd barely left Rowena's side. Aside from small bathroom and shower trips, you stayed in the room with her. She needed you to keep her company, needed you to hold her while she slept and hold her hand while she was awake. She hadn't felt your touch in two weeks, and she couldn't get enough of it. The only physical contact she had were the constant beatings. You hoped your gentle caresses could make up for it.

Trent appeared to have vanished. Sam and Dean had warned all alternate world hunters of what he had done and had made it clear that if they were to see him, they were to report it straight to them. So far, nobody had had any luck.

As promised, that evening you prepared Rowena a bath. The tub was rather small in comparison to the luxurious one you had at home (Rowena's only condition when she agreed to move in), but it would do. You made sure that the water was her preferred temperature. As a finishing touch, you added some healing and soothing oils. Everything had to be perfect.

The poor woman hadn't had a bath in weeks. You could tell she was self-conscious about the unpleasant odor of her body. You'd noticed it; everyone would have. You made sure to never bring any attention to it. She was safe. She was alive. Thanks to the potions and salves, she was making incredibly fast recovery. That was all that mattered. You would have rather had her stinky than in pain.

Sam and Dean had, as per your request, provided some clean sheets. You left them by the bed; you would remove the dirty ones after the bath.

After picking out new nightwear for you both, you led Rowena to the bathroom. Her mouth widened into a smile at the sight of steaming water lined with bubbles. It had been a long while since she'd seen it, let alone lied in it.

"Is the temperature okay?" you asked as you helped her into the tub. Didn't hurt to be sure. After all, Rowena was an incredibly picky creature. Hard to please, expected and craved nothing but the very best. Some would call her an acquired taste.

"Aye," she said. Carefully, she laid down and closed her eyes at the warm sensation. Soft, gentle sounds much alike purrs left her mouth; they were quiet, but you heard them, and you couldn't stop smiling. Your little kitty cat. Her being with you, loving you, _trusting_ you made you the happiest girl in the world. Nobody else had the luck of being loved by Rowena MacLeod. It was a privilege of the highest order.

Rowena insisted she could wash herself. She was okay, she claimed. She wasn't in pain. Her wounds weren't as bad as they used to be. She'd eaten well and had regained a lot of strength. She could damn well clean herself.

You didn't protest. Rowena's pride was far from a secret. Being bedridden and having to be led to the bathroom had wounded it more than enough. She needed to do this on her own, needed at the very least that small bit of independence back. You didn't have the heart to take it from her.

You helped out every now and then, but the majority of the work was Rowena's own. A tinge of pride bloomed inside you. Your girl was strong as much as she was stubborn. Two weeks of torment couldn't take that away from her. She was hurting, no doubt, but she didn't let it hold her down, didn't let it define her. She pushed through like the fighter she was. Like the _survivor_ she was.

By the time she was done, the water had turned a mixture of light brown and pinkish. You unplugged the drain and, once it was all gone, plugged it in and let a clean, fresh stream of warm water into the tub. You'd promised Rowena a bath, and that was what she would get. She wasn't the only one who missed it. You were dying for that intimacy — had been dying for it for weeks.

Rowena huddled in the tub as it slowly filled up. Her knees were drawn to her chest, her arms wrapped around them like a ribbon keeping them in place. Wet, shivering, covered in green bruises, and naked as the day she was born, she looked the picture of frailty. It required an insane amount of trust for her to let you see her like that. You swore never to do anything to lose it.

Closing the tap and stripping off your clothes, you joined Rowena in the tub. You sat down behind her and spread your legs to allow her to nestle in between them. She instantly relaxed at your touch, all traces of tension vanishing as if they'd never been there. She leaned back to lie against your chest. You welcomed her with open arms, then gently laid those same arms over her chest. She trusted you to hold her, trusted you to handle her with care and keep her safe. You intended to do exactly that.

The two of you allowed silence to befall you, getting lost in the intimacy, in the peace of the moment, before Rowena broke it.

"When can we go home? I'm sick of this place."

"When your foot is better," you replied. The drive home was long. You couldn't risk hunters getting wind of you along the way and Rowena being unable to run if need be.

"My foot is fine."

"Honey, you can't walk."

"Why does that matter?" she snapped. "A lot of people can't bloody walk and they're allowed out!"

"Those people aren't witches. They don't risk being attacked by hunters," you pointed out, doing your best to remain calm. Patience wasn't your strongest virtue, but you understood Rowena's frustrations. You would be angry, too, if you were pinned to a bed and forbidden from going home.

Rowena took a calming breath. "That won't happen," she said, and she seemed damn sure of it.

"I'm not risking it," you said sternly. "Not after…"

After she'd been kidnapped.

After she'd spent two weeks locked up in a cellar and mercilessly beaten for something she hadn't even done.

After you'd gotten her back with a wounded, almost broken body.

Shaking your head in an attempt to chase those thoughts away, you said, "I don't want you to get hurt again."

"I won't. I promise you, darling, I won't," Rowena said in a soft, tender voice, like a mother consoling a sad child. "Don't worry about me."

"How can I not?" Something always happened. People — humans, monsters — always hurt her, always turned against her and betrayed her. "He's still out there."

Rowena stiffened at the reminder, but quickly snapped out of it. "The Winchesters and their wee friends are on the lookout. They will find him before anything happens." You snorted. She frowned. "What?"

"What do you think they're gonna do to him? He's human, Rowena! They won't kill one of their own!" Arthur Ketch instantly came to mind. Killing and torturing innocent witches in order to get to Rowena had earned him their companionship. "He'll get a stern talking to and maybe a warning. That's not enough."

Not even his death would be enough. He deserved to suffer the same way Rowena had at his hands.

"They will take care of it," she said.

"No, they won't."

She sighed, loud, frustrated. "It bloody costs you nothing to believe in something!"

"Since when do you believe in _them?"_

"What else am I supposed to do?" Her muscles tensed again. She sucked in a deep breath. "You don't know what it was like to be locked up in that cellar. For those two weeks all I got were beatings and insults. He barely let me sleep. I survived on a piece of bread and a glass of water a day. It was horrible, Y/N. I don't ever want to go back there. I have to believe that I won't. Otherwise… I have nothing."

Constant beatings. A piece of bread and a glass of water a day. No wonder she was so weak. Instinctively, your hold on her tightened. _You're gonna be okay,_ you thought. _He's never gonna hurt you again._ You would protect her with your life, if need be. You would do anything in your power — _anything —_ to make sure she never had to go through that again.

"You have me. I will keep you safe," you told her, every word heartfelt, genuine. "I won't let him get to you. I promise."

Rowena was quiet for a moment, taking in your words. Then she said, "I know."

"You can trust me."

"I do."

"Can you be patient for a bit, then? I'm not keeping you here to be a bitch. Honest. This isn't a prison. I just want you to be able to protect yourself in case something goes wrong on the way home, and you can't do that if you can't walk."

You thought she would argue. Instead, she turned to teasing. "A wee bit paranoid, aren't you?"

"You know me," you said, shrugging nonchalantly.

"That I do. My wee worry doll."

A chuckle escaped your mouth. "Shut up!"

"Never," Rowena said, giggling like a naughty schoolgirl.

She was okay. She'd gone through hell, and she still knew how to laugh, still loved to tease and joke around. Still, you couldn't help worrying about her emotional state. You knew Rowena well enough to know she kept her emotions bottled up. While she was no stranger to crying in front of you, she'd only started truly opening up to you after Lucifer had brutally murdered her, and that was only because she couldn't contain the pain, couldn't keep it from breaking to the surface at random times. She knew you would never think her weak or take advantage, but old fears, brought on by repeated bad experiences, died hard.

Circumstances had forced her to let you in, and you, in turn, had done your best to prove you could be trusted with that part of her. Eventually, she'd eased up. But she still wasn't completely comfortable with the idea of somebody else seeing her at her worst — even if she knew with absolute certainty that that someone was no danger to her.

"Rowena, are… How are you doing? Emotionally, I mean," you said, and instantly felt guilty for changing the subject. You had to ask her. You had to give her a chance to talk to you, if she wanted to. Sometimes, all she needed was a little push in the form of a polite, well-meaning question.

"I'm good," she replied after a moment's hesitation.

"You sure?" Wouldn't be the first time she lied about things like this. "It's okay to not be okay." And judging by her little outburst, she was far from okay.

Rowena was quiet for a few moments before letting out a long, hard sigh. "I'm dealing with it," she said, voice a tad quieter, sadder.

If desperately clinging to optimism could be considered dealing, then sure, she was dealing with it.

"Would you like to talk about it?"

"What's there to talk about? It happened. It's over now. Besides, it's not like it was my first time." She scoffed. "I've lived through worse."

If it wasn't as bad as what Lucifer had done to her, it didn't matter. She didn't _let_ it matter.

"Honey, it's not a competition," you told her. "If it hurts, it hurts. You're _allowed_ to feel it."

She contemplated it for a bit. You were right, and she knew that. She was allowed to feel, allowed to hurt, just like everybody else. She was allowed to be a _person._ Her mouth opened, then quickly closed, whatever she'd meant to say forever lost to her thoughts. Instead, she took a deep breath and said, "I don't want to talk about it."

"Okay." You had no intentions of forcing her to open up. If she wanted to talk, she would have. "If you change your mind, I'm here."

Rowena nodded. "Hold me?"

"Of course," you said, all too happy to oblige.

Moving your arms up to get more comfortable, you tightened your hold on her. She clasped her hands over yours and leaned further back. Her eyes fluttered shut, breathing growing softer, lighter, matching her tender heartbeats. She was at peace, and she trusted you to keep it, to keep her safe.

She had made the right choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by OswinTheStrange.


	3. Avenged

Rowena had made extraordinary recovery in the span of the next few days. The bruises had all paled to light, barely noticeable yellows. The wounds on her wrists and foot were almost gone, as it they weren't raw and fresh mere days earlier. Healing potions were a miracle. As the pain was gone, there was no more use for the potions to numb it down. A few more dosages of the healing ones, and Rowena would be at full health.

That was, if you ignored the very unhealthy loss of weight she'd suffered.

She was working on that, though. Her appetite was good, and, much to your surprise, she wasn't picky about her food. She accepted each and every meal Sam and Dean had offered her without complaint. Their food was far from what she was used to, but it did its job. It was food, and that was what she needed. After two weeks of nothing but bread and water, she was grateful for everything she got.

The hunters didn't have to rescue her. They didn't have to let her stay over until she recovered and provide her with any necessities she was in need of. They owed her nothing. And yet, they did their best to provide her with what she needed, did their best to be good hosts. To make demands — while residing in their home and eating their food — would be ungrateful.

Rowena was way past that mentality.

It was your final morning at the bunker. As Rowena was able to painlessly walk now, it was time for the two of you to head home. You were in the kitchen; Sam was making breakfast, Dean was messing around on his phone (either looking at tentacle anime porn or reading the latest news, you guessed), and Rowena was preparing tea and coffee for everyone. Her way of saying thank you for letting her stay over.

You hovered around her as she worked. With her meticulous attention to every single detail, she was always interesting to watch. When she did something, it had to be the best. It had to be  _ perfect. _ Spells, potions, food, drinks… Anything she dedicated herself to was guaranteed to be a work of art.

"Smells so good," you commented, taking a deep inhale of the pleasing aroma of herbs and coffee.

Rowena grinned at the praise. "Here's your… coffee." Her features morphed into a look of mock disgust as she slid the cup over to you. "Or rather, your  _ sugar." _

"Shut up," you said with a, giggle, and lightly hit her shoulder. You liked your coffee oversugared, something Rowena couldn't wrap her head around. She never ceased to tease you about it.

One time she saw you adding insane amounts of sugar to the tea she'd made for you. You had never seen her look so offended, before or since the "incident." The woman had almost suffered a stroke.

"That beverage is an insult to coffee everywhere."

"It's yummy and you know it."

"It's vile, is what it is," she retorted.

"Whatever you say." You pecked her on the cheek and grabbed the cup. "Thank you."

She sighed. "The things I do for you."

"You're a real martyr."

"I'll have you know, that is exactly what I am."

"Poor Wena."

She pouted, prompting you to laugh.

"What's wrong with sugar?" Dean asked.

"Absolutely nothing," you said. "See? He gets it."

Rowena snorted. "He also has the dining habits of a toddler. Are you sure you want his validation?"

She… kind of had a point. You shrugged, and at the same time Dean exclaimed in an overly offended tone, "Hey!"

Sam and you chuckled in unison.

Rowena laid the beverages out on the table, then took a sip of her tea. "Now this is divine."

"It's bitter," you said.

"As tea should be. And so should coffee, for that matter."

"Pfft!"

"That is not an argument."

"What point is there in arguing when you shoot down everything I say?"

"I don't 'shoot down' everything you say." A smug smile broke out on her mouth. "I just happen to be right."

"That wasn't egoistic at all," you said sarcastically.

Rowena didn't even bother to deny it. "Just honest, dear."

"Wow," Dean said. "This is like listening to Sam go on and on about his healthy food crap."

Sam shot him his signature bitchface. "Healthy food is important."

"All food is important, Sam," Dean said matter-of-factly. "It's  _ food." _

"Not when it kills you, it's not."

"I'll happily die doing what I love."

"My condolences, Samuel," Rowena said, appalled by the exchange. "If it makes you feel any better, I know exactly what you're going through."

You rolled your eyes. "Meanie."

"You knew what you were getting into, dear," she pointed out. 

You had to smile at that. "No regrets there. Even if you're insufferable at times."

She looked at you as if you'd just murdered her entire family and she was prepared to return the favor.

"Just honest, dear," you echoed her words.

The joyous, friendly atmosphere remained all throughout breakfast. The smile never left your face as you ate. There was an intimacy to it, to the four of you enjoying your meals while cracking jokes and letting out a bark of laughter here and there. To an outsider it might have looked as if you were friends.

Were you? You weren't sure how to define the relationship. Sam and Rowena could have been friends. Maybe not to the full extent of the word, but what they had was more friendship than acquaintanceship. You and Sam, and you and Rowena and Dean, on the other hand…

Was it symbiosis?

As much as you knew Sam wouldn't hurt Rowena on purpose, he was still destined to kill her. No matter how hard you tried — and you  _ did _ try — you couldn't look past that, couldn't forget it for even a few moments. And Dean, trigger happy and explosive tempered as he was, you trusted even less. Him being alone with Rowena made you feel uneasy.

He would have happily let her die. He would have let her live in fear, weak, unprotected, terrified of her own shadow. All so she wouldn't get too powerful for him and his brother to handle — too powerful to threaten and imprison if they needed another favor she had happened to say no to. You could joke around and have fun with him, but you couldn't forget that. You couldn't  _ forgive  _ that.

It was definitely symbiosis.

You were grateful to the brothers to all heavens for rescuing Rowena and letting the two of you stay over until she recovered, but you were still careful. You were still on alert. They wouldn't kick her when she was down; they were too noble for that. Even you had to admit that. But if they needed something from her, and she said no… Dean wouldn't take that for an answer. And Sam, as usual, would stay quiet and let him do as he pleased without a word of protest.

Since Rowena and Sam had made the drinks and food, respectively, you and Dean had agreed to take care of the dishes. You may have been on alert, but you weren't ungrateful. Doing the dishes was the least you could do after all they'd done for your girlfriend.

"Think we could stop by the mall on our way home?" Rowena asked as you carried the plates to the sink. "I haven't gone shopping in ages!"

"I don't see why not," you replied, prompting her to let out a small breath of relief and put on a smile. She was expecting you to argue. You  _ would have  _ argued had she still been injured. But aside from some pale yellow bruises (easily covered up by makeup), she was okay. She could protect herself with magic. She could run. She still needed to replenish her weight, but that wouldn't hinder her much. Maybe if she were in a physical fight, but you doubted it would come to that. You both had your magic. You had  _ each other. _ If Trevor (or any other hunter for that matter) tried anything, you could take him. Together.

You doubted he would. He had kidnapped Rowena while she was passing by a lone alley. A mall was too public for attempted kidnapping — or murder.

"You packed everything?" you asked.

"Aye," Rowena replied.

"You sure? I'm not driving back three hours for a hairbrush."

She rolled her eyes. "I have packed everything, Y/N."

You grinned. "Just checking."

Rowena was about to say something snarky when sudden knocking, soft, patient, sounded in the bunker. You frowned, confused, and, turning back, noticed similar expressions on the brothers' faces. They quickly shook them off.

"Most likely one of the hunters. They don't have a key yet," Sam said.

They'd been keeping the Bunkers' doors locked at all times for Rowena's sake. A safety precaution, in case Trevor came back.

"I'll go see who it is," the younger Winchester added and headed out the kitchen.

"Thank goodness we're leaving," Rowena said, face adorably scrunched up in a look of disgust. "No offense to your hospitality, but this place can get awfully crowded."

"Tell me about it," Dean said. "Imagine living with twenty people. They're everywhere." His eyes widened dramatically.  _ "Everywhere." _

Rowena looked as if she'd just eaten something gross. "How do you deal with it?"

"Hole up in my room."

"Best way to deal with anything, honestly," you said. Your  _ favorite _ way.

"Ain't that the truth."

Sam opened the door. You heard him breathe out in what appeared to be unease, then say something.

Something that sounded suspiciously like "Trevor."

You froze. Rowena stiffened. The two men headed downstairs, and as they did, their voices became louder, clearer.

Sam was calling him Trevor.

Like a flip of a switch, Rowena started shaking. Panic bloomed over her face, and spread to the rest of her body. Her hands grabbed the back of one of the chairs for balance, knuckles turning light, snowy white from the strength of her grip. Her eyes were wide, the bright, vivid green in them rid of its usual light. All life was drained from them, and what remained was darkness, solemn, dead, scared.

You knew that look well. You'd gotten accustomed to it throughout the year. Every time she would think of Lucifer, every time she would remember that horrible day of last May, the same look would settle in her eyes. Fear. Trauma. Pain.

She was terrified, scared out of her mind. What Trevor had done to her was nothing in comparison to the brutal, torturous death at Lucifer's hands, but it still affected her. Trauma wasn't a competition. No matter how hard she tried to play it off as nothing, it was anything but. It had left its impression on her; on her mind, on her soul, on her still healing body.

Two weeks she had been tortured. Two weeks she'd consumed nothing but a piece of bread and a glass of water a day. Two weeks she'd endured daily beatings, listened to insults and accusations of things she hadn't done.

Two weeks she'd been in hell.

And hell had followed her out.

It wasn't fair, you thought. Rowena had done terrible things in her life; you would be a fool to not acknowledge that. She'd killed and ruined and destroyed without a second thought, without a shred of remorse.

But she had also changed. Since early this year, she had done everything right. Some people's trauma made them cruel. Hers had made her kind. While she still had work to do, she was on the right path to redemption (as far as you were concerned, she was completely redeemed, but you were willing to admit you might have been a tad biased, being in love with her and all). Sam and Dean supported her, believed in her, gave her a chance against all odds. She was doing good.

And this man had had the audacity to kidnap and torture her.

Had Rowena really done what he'd claimed, you would have understood his rage. You would have been angry, but you would have understood why he wanted to get revenge.

The problem was, your girlfriend was innocent. The Rowena MacLeod that had murdered Trevor's family was from the same alternate world he'd come from. If she wasn't dead, she was probably sipping martinis somewhere without a care in the world.

All the while, the son of a bitch had decided to target  _ your  _ Rowena. They looked the same, bore the same name, so they  _ must have _ been the same person. Couldn't kill the real deal? No problem, just kidnap and torture the lookalike!

_ Bastard! _

He and Sam were talking. They were so close, you could feel the vibrations of his voice on your skin. Soft, gentle, friendly. A real smooth talker. It made your stomach twist with disgust.

He was asking for Rowena. Needed a spell, he said. So, since he knew Sam was friends with her, he thought he'd give him her number — or her address.

_ Crazy son of a bitch! _

Whatever the two men had said next was lost to you. Their voices faded into indecipherable mumbling, as if they had suddenly gone underwater. Your head started buzzing as if a million bees had nested inside your skull and started flying all at once. Your body wasn't yours anymore; you felt like a traveler, like an intruder who'd been kicked out by the real host. All you could do was watch as instinct, primal, animalistic, took over.

You had to protect Rowena. You had to make sure the bastard would never hurt her again. She was scared, and you had promised to protect her. It was time to make good on it.

Consequences didn't matter. The risk — of injury, of  _ death — _ didn't matter. Nothing mattered.

Nothing except for Rowena.

_ Keep her safe, _ the voice in your head said. It was yours, your thoughts, but it didn't feel like it.  _ Help her. Protect her. _

Yes. She needed your help, needed your protection. If you didn't give it to her, who would? Sam and Dean would never hurt one of their own. They didn't care that much.

You did. You cared so much more.

You loved her.

You loved her more than life, more than yourself.

And thus, you had to protect her.

You could do nothing against Lucifer. The archangel was too strong for you to handle. The smallest attempt would have cost you both your lives.

A human, on the other hand, you could deal with.

You could injure him, hurt him, make him bleed.

You could  _ kill _ him.

Your hand reached for one of the dirty knives in the sink. Turning towards the open door, you headed out. Your moves were straight, mechanical, more like that of a robot than a human. Dean said something; it was background noise to you, incoherent, as if coming from under thick layers of water.

Unimportant.

Trevor was smiling at Sam, whose own smile was forced, faked, and moving his hands around excitedly as he talked about something.

Underwater. He was talking underwater. Everybody was talking underwater.

As soon as he heard you come in, Trevor turned to you. Just like Dean had said, he was scruffy, skinny to the point of malnourishment, and wore cowboy boots the same light brown color of his shoulder-length hair. His smile brightened as seeing you; he flashed it at you, a thousand watt of lies and deceit.

The disgusted knot in your stomach tightened, and so did your grip on the knife. How dare he act so nonchalant? How dare he greet you so heartily, as if he hadn't come her to seek out your girlfriend, his lost property?

"Hey, Y/N," he said in a tone that was disturbingly friendly. It rang throughout your body like a bad vibration, shaking you to the core. No more underwater. All on the surface, hostile, offensive. "Have you seen Rowena? I need—"

He didn't see the knife until you plunged it into his stomach. A startled, pained gasp escaped him. You poured all your strength into the grip, pushing the knife harder, deeper into his insides. A hot stream of blood gushed out, quickly drenching his shirt and pants. As you pulled the knife out in a swift, quick motion, more blood poured out. Droplets, each new one bigger, thicker, pooled up on the floor at the hunter's booted feet.

_ Die! _

Trevor had no time to react before you shoved the knife into him again, this time into his chest.

_ Die! Die! Die! _

He had to die.

He had to pay.

The blade sank into his flesh with ease. It felt like stabbing butter. Just as soft, just as easy.

_ He  _ was butter. And you would cut him into pieces.

Somebody shouted something. Sam? Dean? You couldn't tell. Underwater. Everything except for Trevor was underwater, deep, submerged, incomprehensible. Far, far away from you.

Whoever it was, were they trying to get you to stop? Most likely. It was exactly what the brothers would do.

They wouldn't if Trevor wasn't human.

Unfortunately for them, you didn't give a damn about species. A sinner was a sinner. A criminal was a criminal. A bastard was a bastard. Trevor could have been God himself and you would have still wanted him dead. And, had you gotten a chance to kill him, you would have taken it.

Strong hands landed on your shoulders, grip firm, strong, attempting to pull you away from the bleeding man. A quick shout of "Abi," and the person released you, flying backwards into a wall with a thud.

Underwater noise.

Distant.

Unimportant.

Trevor was  _ yours.  _ You promised he would die, and you would make good on it. You would make the world safe again for Rowena. You couldn't get rid of Lucifer, but you could of a measly human. This was your chance to make things right, to  _ do  _ right by the woman you loved.

You stabbed him again, and again, and again. The knife dove everywhere; his torso, his shoulders and upper arms. Plunge after plunge after plunge, and the bastard refused to die. He just howled upon every impact, which soon faded into gasps and hisses, the pain, growing stronger with each new wound, constricting his throat.

Trevor's blood clung to you, drenched your skin and clothes. Any other time you would have been disgusted. Now, you couldn't care less. He needed to die, and you would make it happen.

Better his blood on you than Rowena's.

His eyes met yours. What his mouth could no longer do, his eyes could — they begged, pleaded, ached for mercy. Spare me, they said. Let me live. Please, let me live.

_ No! _

Where was his mercy when he kidnapped Rowena? Where was his mercy when he beat her every single day for two weeks straight, when he gave her nothing but a piece of bread and a glass of water a day, when he hurled insults at her and laughed at her misery? Where was his mercy when he showed up at the bunker and ignorantly tried to sweet talk his way into finding her again?

He had none.

And neither did you.

_ Die! _

You jabbed the knife into his throat. As you pulled it out, you pushed him. Trevor stumbled, then fall down with a thump, landing perfectly on his back. Blood instantly pulled around him, outlining his body like grim, crimson chalk.

You watched him as he twitched and shook like an addict itching for a high.

_ Pathetic! _

Life was slowly draining from him, and he knew that. He knew that, and he was afraid.

_ Good.  _ He should have been afraid.

His eyes widened in terror as you crouched beside him. Now he knew what Rowena felt. If his mind bothered to make the connection. You doubted it. People like him only ever thought about themselves. Everybody else was unimportant.

Just like he was to you.

You stared into his eyes with a neutral expression. Let him see how little you cared, how little his suffering bothered you. That only made him more frightened. Gurgling, helpless sounds of terror broke from his mouth, along with gushes of blood. He couldn't breathe. Couldn't escape. Couldn't defend himself. He was like a rabid animal; cornered, about to be put down. There was no happy ending for his story.

It was almost a shame. A refugee from a war-torn world, Trevor had a chance to make something of himself here. It could have been his new beginning.

Instead, it was his end.

And it was all his fault.

The realization finally settled on his face as you watched him. He knew he'd fucked up. But he still wasn't sorry. The grunts, the tears, the regret — they were all for himself. Because he wasn't careful. Because he'd gotten caught.

Oh, well. At least one of you pitied him.

You lowered yourself to your knees; it was hard to maneuver a weapon while crouching. Both hands tightly wrapping around the handle, you raised the knife up, then swiftly plunged it down.

Straight into Trevor's heart.

The man gasped one final time at the impact. Your face remained cold, emotionless throughout it all. You just stared into his eyes as the light of life in them died down like a wick of a candle flicking off in a puff of smoke.

Trevor was dead.

After days of worrying about him finding her, Rowena could finally sleep with ease.  _ You  _ could sleep with ease, knowing she was safe.

All thanks to you.

You'd made good on your promise. You'd protected your girlfriend.

Your heart sped up with adrenaline as the realization settled in. Rowena was in danger no more. No more hiding, no need for precaution. She was safe.

Because you'd killed Trevor.

You took in the blood-soaked corpse before you. Your artwork, all of it. The blood, the wounds, all yours.

_ Oh, my god! _

All yours.

_ All  _ of it.

You released the blade, still resting in Trevor's heart, as if burned and crawled backwards, away from the body.

The bloody, cut up body.

All courtesy of you.

_ Oh, god! _

The weight of everything suddenly crashed down on you. You couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't focus. All you could see was the body, and blood drenching every surface of it. Drenching  _ you. _

Not knowing what else to do, you wept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was edited by my lovely friend hotdiggitydammit!
> 
> Huge thanks to my friend Janice for helping out with some information!


	4. Loved

The entire world was spinning. Sobs tore from your mouth, loud, piercing, painful. One after the other, they ripped from your throat in a seemingly never-ending tune. A waterfall of tears drenched your face. The salty water burned at your skin and eyes like liquid fire sliding down your face.

Sam and Dean were saying something behind you. Their voices meshed and blurred together, words incoherent, babbling, a background noise muddled by the loud wall of your sobs and whimpers. A hand landed on your shoulder. Instinctively, you flinched. Looking up, you were met with a gaze as green as a forest, two precious gems filled with nothing but endless sympathy.

"Y/N?" Rowena said tentatively, gently. Testing the grounds. There was no telling how you might react, especially after such a violent outburst; Rowena knew that better than anybody. People were unpredictable, she herself a perfect example. She had never — and would never — hurt you, but there were times when everything was too much, when everything hurt, and lashing out was her only way of dealing with it.

You'd had your moments, as well.

Your tense muscles relaxed under her touch. Her hand, tiny, delicate, was warm. Rowena was always warm, a little furnace in human form, as you sometimes teased her.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

"N-no," you whimpered, struggling to get the word out. Your mouth was shaking along with the rest of your body. You felt as if you were on an iceberg, clad in nothing but jeans and a shirt, shivering in the deadly cold. Were you cold? You weren't sure. You couldn't feel the temperature.

You couldn't feel much of anything other than that _it_ was too much.

"Come, love," Rowena said, and you could have sworn a speck of pity wove its way into her voice, hiding amongst bursting sympathy and love. "Let's get you cleaned up."

She reached for your hands. You let her take them, grateful for the physical contact. You would be okay, you told yourself. For as long as Rowena was here, loving you, comforting you, touching you, you would be okay. She would make it okay. She always did.

You carefully got to your feet. Your legs felt like jelly, weak, shaky, but you managed to take a few tentative steps, holding onto Rowena for dear life. She held you with equal ferocity. She wouldn't let you fall, wouldn't let you hurt yourself. You could trust her. Just like she trusted you to take care of her when she was hurt, you trusted her to comfort you, trusted her to make everything bad and terrible go away.

Rowena was a mom. Far from a good one, as she'd admitted herself, but the instinct remained, even after so many centuries. She could care, she could protect, she could comfort. Most moms were good at that. Rowena, in the three years you'd known her, certainly was (not that she'd let anybody know. You were one of the few lucky ones who got to see that side of her up close). She would make you better. She would make the pain go away.

Rowena and the brothers engaged in a brief talk. She would help you, then come back and help them clean up and get rid of the body, she said. It was only fair; they'd let her stay over and eat their food for days. She wasn't as ungrateful as most people thought her. You'd only made this mess — wasn't that putting it lightly — because of her, to protect her. The least she could do was clean it up.

Sam assured her it wasn't necessary. He and Dean had done this kind of thing before. It wouldn't be the first time they got their hands dirty. Much to Rowena's surprise, they made no comments on the murder, gave no threats or warnings. They understood why you did it. After all, they'd done the same — worse, even — for each other. They told her not to worry, to just go help you out.

Rowena was more than happy to oblige. She took you to the bathroom and locked the door behind her for privacy.

"It's okay, darling. Everything is going to be okay." Her hands rubbed your shoulders and forearms as she spoke, tone matching the tenderness of her touch. You melted into it, gave yourself away to her, to her protection, her care.

She was right. Everything was okay. Trevor was dead. You'd made the threat go away, made the world safe for her again. She didn't have to live in fear of her own shadow, like she did back when Lucifer was alive. She didn't have to watch her every step, didn't have to carefully inspect every place she went in search of an easy exit in case he found her.

She was safe. Completely and utterly safe. All thanks to you.

Why did you feel so overwhelmed, then? Why was pain, unknown, foreign, strange, squeezing at your heart with every beat it took? Why did you hurt so damn much?

Shock, you concluded. It must have been; there was no other explanation. You didn't just kill Trevor — you mutilated him. It was only natural that you were in shock after such violence.

Rowena started taking your clothes off. First your shirt, then the shoes and jeans, and, finally, underwear. You let her do it without protest. She was gentle, endlessly patient, like a mother caring for her sick child. Every now and then she would utter a few soothing words that did wonders for your nerves. It was like she was a siren, only instead of death, her voice brought peace.

Once you were naked, Rowena took your hands and helped you into the bath. She turned the shower on and, making sure the water was your preferred temperature, started washing you. Trevor's blood covered your entire upper body, having soaked through the shirt. As the water rained down on you, puddles of pink started sliding down your skin like tiny waterfalls.

The bastard was still on you. He was dead, yet traces of him remained on your body, grimly crimson, mocking you, taunting you. You closed your eyes. Rowena would make him go away. You made him go away from her, and she would return the favor.

The whole ordeal was over before you knew it. Rowena's hands rubbing your skin clean felt more like a massage than a washing. You gave yourself over to it, grim reality temporarily forgotten in place of a calming fantasy. It shattered as soon as she got up and turned off the shower. Your eyes snapped open, only to meet her smiling form. She was still in mother hen mode, happily fussing over her chick.

You had to return the smile, even if yours was smaller, barely noticeable.

Rowena noticed it. She always did.

She told you she would get you some clean clothes, and true to her word, a couple minutes later she was back with an armful of clothing. She sat it down on the dresser to help you out of the tub, already grabbing a towel.

"I can do it," you told her softly as you took it from her and started drying yourself.

Smile never leaving her face, she nodded and said, "Alright." She knew better than to push you to accept undesired help, herself upset or even hostile when somebody would try to force the same on her.

Putting the now wet towel away, you pulled your clothes on (which consisted of a jeans and a shirt. Rowena knew what you were most comfortable with), and you and Rowena headed for your temporary bedroom.

"Should we postpone the trip?" she asked.

You shook your head. "I wanna go home." You were sick of this place; sick of the stale air, of people always walking around, of constantly feeling like an intruder. You were grateful to the brothers for giving you and Rowena shelter, but this wasn't _home._ There was no coziness, no familiar scents of herbs and soothing candles. No warmth and familiarity you were accustomed to. No feeling of home.

"If you're sure," Rowena said. "But I'm driving."

"Rowena —" you tried to protest, but she cut you off.

"You are not getting behind the wheel in your condition," she said in her stern mom voice, and you knew it was futile to argue. Didn't mean you wouldn't try.

"I'm fine." You'd stopped crying by now. Your breathing had returned to normal, and you weren't shaking — not as bad anymore, anyway. A little tremble here and there was nothing.

"I'm not having this argument with you, Y/N. You're not driving, and that's final."

And so it was.

The two of you said your goodbyes to Sam and Dean. Hiding behind Rowena and looking sideways, you apologized for the mess. You couldn't look at the body. The rusty smell of blood lingering in the air (you had to clench your teeth shut to keep from gagging) was enough of a reminder of what you'd done; seeing it wouldn't make it any easier for you.

It wasn't that you regretted it. The bastard had had coming even worse after what he'd done to your girlfriend. But such violence… You didn't expect that. Not from yourself. Not so suddenly.

It scared you to think what you were capable of. You'd killed for Rowena before, but never in this way. Never this brutally.

A part of you was proud. You'd made good on your promise. You'd protected her, had made the bad man go away, never to hurt her again.

Maybe this was good. Maybe this side of you, violent, merciless, protective to literal death, would do both of you good. People were usually less likely to attack if they knew there would be consequences. If they — hunters, monsters — were to know of Rowena having this kind of protection, maybe they would steer clear of her. Maybe she would be safe.

Nothing would have made you happier than that.

Sam and Dean told you it was okay (though, by the looks on their faces, you could tell that it was not) and wished you and Rowena well. With a heartfelt thank you for letting you stay with them and a goodbye, the two of you were on the road, on the long way home.

The sun bared its pointy teeth and Rowena squinted, having not seen it for a while. It was cold, winter beginning to settle in. Rowena shivered and brought her jacket closer. Had you known the weather would change so drastically in the span of a few days, you would have packed her coat. Thankfully, the car had heating, and as soon as the two of you got inside, she turned it on.

You rode in silence for a while, uncomfortable, uncertain. Huddled in the passenger seat, you leaned against the door and closed your eyes. The warmth that slowly filled the vehicle calmed you, soothed your still uneasy nerves.

This was right, you found yourself thinking. The way it was supposed to be. Just you and Rowena, madly in love, depending on nobody but each other. Alone against the world, as it had always been — literally, this time. How lucky you were to have such a beautiful, precious creature by your side. To have her all for yourself, and be hers all the same. An acquired taste, she was. Not many people could handle her. There was a time when you thought you couldn't, either, but those fears proved unfounded. When you loved someone enough, no single flaw of theirs was too much. Rowena's theatrics and drama were what made her _her._ They were the same as her softness, as her nurture and love. They made her who she was, made her special, unique. As such, you loved them as much as you loved all her other sides.

If she were perfect, she wouldn't have been Rowena.

The lack of said perfection, in turn, made her perfect to you.

"Rowena?"

"Yes, dear?"

"I'm sorry you had to see that," you said. As much as you were glad Trevor was dead, you would have preferred if Rowena hadn't witnessed it. Cold, emotionless, and covered in blood wasn't how you wanted her to remember you.

"You mean, you going absolutely bonkers and making Swiss cheese out of Trevor?" There was a teasing note in her tone, a lightness you welcomed. The day was gloom enough as it was.

"Yeah." You wanted to laugh, but you couldn't. Not yet. You still weren't completely at peace with what had happened.

Rowena shook her head. "Och, it wasn't that bad. I've seen much worse." She threw you a quick glance and flashed a bright smile. "I won't lose sleep over it."

 _At least one of us won't,_ you thought.

Taking notice of your glum expression, she said, "Neither should you. The bloody bastard got what was coming to him."

"I know." You did know. But it was still hard to accept that _you_ had done it in such a way. "It's just…"

"Just what?" Rowena inquired, quirking up a curious eyebrow.

You took a deep breath. "It was _so_ violent. I… I didn't know I could do such things." Images of the knife sinking into Trevor's skin over and over again flashed in your mind for a brief moment. You shuddered. "He was there, acting like nothing happened. And you were so scared. I didn't want you to be scared."

Rowena's expression softened. She looked at you, face overflowing with sympathy, with devotion, with love she hadn't felt in centuries. Tears welled up in your eyes, hot and sharp like tiny prickles. One traitorous one slipped down your cheek, followed by another, and another, and soon your face was drenched and puffy.

"I had to protect you," you continued. "It was like my brain froze and the only thing on my mind was… revenge. He had to pay for what he did to you."

Your fingers balled into fists, teeth clenched almost painfully. You remembered walking into the bunker that first day and seeing Rowena huddled up like a ragdoll, every inch of her skin bruised and battered, hair messy and matted, clothes caked in dirt and dried blood. You remembered how scared she was, remembered the pain she was in. Trevor had to pay. Letting him live after everything he'd done to her would have been an injustice.

If you'd spared him when you had the chance to kill him, how could you ever look Rowena in the eye? How could you face her with the knowledge that you'd let the person who stole two weeks of her life, of her _dignity,_ walk away a free man?

Trevor had to die. It was your duty to kill him.

"Oh, darling," Rowena said. Her hand reached for yours and, fingers twining in a soft knot, squeezed it. "You are a wonderful girlfriend, you know that? I couldn't have asked for anyone better." Her expression was genuine, a perfect match for her tone. She meant every single word. "I appreciate everything you've done for me, everything you keep doing for me." She chuckled. "You're making this old witch feel loved again."

"Good," you said, a tiny chuckle of your own escaping your mouth. "'Cause you are. I love you, Rowena. More than I've ever loved anyone."

She was different from other people. Whereas others always made you feel inferior, Rowena never did. She never looked down on you, never talked down to you or ridiculed you. You felt comfortable talking about your interests with her. She would tease, yes, but never in a malicious way, something many others had done. You never had to hide your true self from her. You could be yourself with her, unapologetically so. You could tell her anything — _anything_ — without fear of her ignoring you or talking over you.

While far from a perfect person, she was a perfect girlfriend. Your only hope was that you were, at the very least, half as good to her.

"I love you, too, Y/N," Rowena said. Her face grew a tad serious. She took a breath to compose her thoughts. "You know you don't have to prove anything to me, right? I _know_ you love me."

"I know," you said. What was her point?

She sighed. "I don't want you putting yourself in danger to prove your love for me." Her hand went up to the wheel for a moment, then settled back over yours.

"That's not… I'm not doing that." Were you? The thought vanished as quickly as it appeared. _Of course not,_ you told yourself. What you'd done, it wasn't about proving anything. You were just fulfilling your promise.

"Trevor was dangerous."

"I know."

She looked at you, eyes like liquid emeralds, filled with unshed tears. She was scared. Not of Trevor this time. Not of Lucifer or the Men of Letters or the Grand Coven. She was scared for _you,_ scared of losing the only person she had left in her life. Without you she was alone.

"What if he'd attacked you?" Rowena asked.

"I would've thrown him off." One _Abi_ and he would have gone flying.

"What if you couldn't?" she pressed.

"Sam would've jumped in."

"What if it was too late?"

"That wouldn't happen."

"What if it did?"

"Well, it didn't!" you snapped without meaning to. Rowena flinched, and you instantly regretted it. _Calm down,_ you told yourself. She was just worried. That man had kept her captive and tortured her for two weeks. It was only natural that she was frightened of what he might have done. There was no need to lash out at her. You took a deep breath to calm your thoughts, to compose yourself. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped at you."

Tears fell down Rowena's cheeks, painting them bright, flashy red. Her lip trembled, stuck out in a pout. Usually, her pouty face was adorable. Now, it was heartbreaking.

"I don't want to lose you, Y/N," she said. "Especially not over something petty like revenge." She paused for a moment, took a few breaths, then, head hanging low, said in a voice that was terribly small, fragile as porcelain, "I'm not worth your life."

"You're worth much more than my life," you said promptly, words flying out of your mouth before you had a chance to think them through. Not that there was anything to think through. She was worth more, so much more. A creature like her, loving, beautiful, was worth the entire world.

"I don't deserve it," Rowena said, and she sounded so sincere, so damn genuine that it hurt. It physically hurt to hear her say those words and mean them.

"Don't start with that bullshit again!"

She got this way every now and then, and every time it was just as heartbreaking as before. She hated her past self, hated her so much that she thought herself worth of nothing — no forgiveness, no understanding, and certainly no love. Horrible people like she used to be didn't deserve it. All her life she'd let people down. She'd betrayed and ruined and destroyed without a shred of remorse. The fact that you could look past that, that you could love her despite knowing about everything she'd done was incomprehensible to her. How could somebody love such a monster? How could somebody love her so truly, so selflessly?

The only thing you asked in return was that she love you back, which, at first, proved to be a challenge, but with time, she allowed herself to do that. That and so much more. You weren't the only one who gave in this relationship. Rowena was more than just a recipient. She loved you the same way you loved her — strongly, with every fibre of her being. It was hard to get used to the feeling, but once she did, she gave herself away to it. She wasn't ashamed of it. There was nothing shameful about love.

As she'd quickly come to find out, there was nothing weak about it, either.

She took care of you when you were in need, answered your every call, no matter how unimportant. _You_ were important. You came first. She was gentler than anyone, including your parents, had ever been with you when you were sick. Medical professionals would envy her bedside manner. She was kind, and sweet, and tender. Rough around the edges, but soft underneath.

How could you _not_ love her?

Her past didn't matter. You didn't approve of her actions, but it was over now, history, behind her, but not forgotten. Never to be forgotten. What you cared about the most, though, was the present. Her past didn't have to define her if she didn't let it. And so far, she'd done a more than a splendid job at not letting it.

"You deserve the world," you told her with enough conviction to, you hoped, shatter her insecurity. "Don't ever let anyone tell you otherwise."

"Y/N…" Rowena's teary eyes met you for a brief moment. A smile formed on her mouth, grateful, loving, appreciative.

Instinctively, you squeezed her hand to emphasize what you said. She had to know that you were genuine, that you'd meant every word that left your mouth. You loved her with your entire soul, endlessly, limitlessly. You loved her like she deserved, like she should have been loved from her very beginnings. If she had been, maybe things would have turned out differently. Maybe she wouldn't have been so unhappy for centuries.

"I mean it," you said. "There's nothing I wouldn't do for you. _Nothing._ I couldn't protect you from Lucifer—" the guilt for not making that particular promise come true still tore at you from time to time "—but humans, _hunters,_ them I _can_ handle."

"That's not your responsibility," Rowena told you. "I can look after myself."

"I know you can." The last thing you wanted was to take away her agency. "But I want to be there for you. I don't want you to ever be alone again." You sent her a tender smile. "I love you too much to let that happen."

Rowena looked at you, round, beady tears slowly rolling down her cheeks. You returned her gaze. Even with puffy eyes and swollen cheeks, she was beautiful. Makeup hid the bruises well, the pale yellows invisible under a layer of foundation. They shouldn't have been there. They never would again, if you could help it. She was yours; yours to love, yours to protect. And protect her you would.

Or, if nothing else, avenge her.

As her girlfriend, you owed her that.

If roles were reversed, she would have returned the favor in a heartbeat. You trusted her with your life. It was only natural that you look after hers.

"Ocht, you bloody sap!' Rowena said after a few moments of silence. Her hand let go of yours and went up to her face to wipe away the tears. A useless gesture, for more fell right after, drenching her face yet again. You smiled. She returned it, face softening. "Thank you, Y/N. I appreciate everything you've done for me."

"You'd do the same for me," you said.

"In a heartbeat!" she fired. "Don't ever doubt that. No one lays their hands on my wee lass!"

 _"Your_ wee lass?" you asked, quirking up a teasing eyebrow.

"Aye, mine." A smirk creeping over her mouth, she purred, _"All mine."_

The sound sent tingles through your body. She knew what she was doing to you, how she was affecting you. Naughty girl, she was. Pure magic in human form. "I never tire of hearing that."

"You shall hear it more often, then." You giggled. She grinned. "I take it you're feeling better?"

You nodded. "Still a bit weirded out, though. How about you?"

"I'm good," Rowena said. "Want to stop for lunch?"

"Sure." You could use some food.

"Alright. We'll stop by a restaurant." Her hand landed back on yours. "I do, too, Y/N."

You frowned. "What?"

"Love you," she said. "With everything I have. And I always will."

"I know, honey." You never doubted that, not for a second.

"I would do anything for you."

She'd proven it countless times already.

"I know," you repeated. "I mean, you make me coffee every morning."

"Damn right, I do, even if it hurts my soul," she said dramatically.

"It's a huge sacrifice."

"Aye!"

You exchanged a look, then you both burst into laughter. It was moments like this that you missed the most those two weeks she'd been stolen from you. The nonchalance, the banter, the little joys that went by fast, but never ceased to make your heart swell to twice its size with warmth.

"God, I missed this," you commented out loud.

"Me, too," Rowena agreed.

"Never leave me."

"Never," she promised. You believed her. "If anything happens again, we'll find each other."

"We will. No matter how long it takes."

You did this time, and you would again. Cross your heart and hope to die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by the awesome hotdiggitydammit.


End file.
